Of Coughs and Calamities
by Rosa Clearwater
Summary: Minerva McGonagall never professed to being dramatic. She did not see the point in pretending to give way to false predictions of doom. And she certainly did not feel any urge to hold sympathy for with those who did.


A/N: I haven't written anything like this in quite some time, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm a bit rusty. However, inspiration has struck today as I'm in a similar predicament that Minerva will be in, in this story. Also, I know that there is no official difference between wizarding and muggle diseases (in regards on the way of curing them) but I am trying to write more than a page or two for this lovely little story. Also, there's some OCs (but they're merely mentioned and aren't life changing characters in this regard) and there is slight MMAD (As always!), but it's one of those things that you have to squint to see. Enjoy!

….

Minerva McGonagall never professed to being dramatic. She did not see the point in pretending to give way to false predictions of doom. And she certainly did not feel any urge to hold sympathy for with those who did.

However, Minerva McGonagall was also sure that she was going to die today.

And, of all the years, it just had to be the one where Gryffindor to _finally_ had a chance ofbringing her the Quidditch Cup. It just had to be the year in which Severus Snape might actually be forced to hand over what was rightfully hers.

Minerva McGonagall was rather looking forward to the day when she'd have to watch the Potions Master grudgingly hand over that beautiful cup.

As another harsh cough broke her train of thought, she glared up at the ceiling of her quarters. The image of Severus Snape now snidely handing over a vial of some cure made her huff in irritation and that huff just so happened to set her off on another coughing fit.

Sometimes, there just wasn't a cure. Or, at least, there just wasn't a quick cure of the magical variety. It's not always the Dragon's fever or some Wizard flu that crippled the population of Hogwarts. But, loathe as Minerva was to admit any weakness, she would take some form of a Muggle cold over any magical illness. When it's from a non-magical source, the effects of potions and spells are far more strengthened.

And, unfortunately, Minerva knew this wasn't a simple cold. Her own core could sense that it was some form of wizard's flu, a common virus this time of year.

Regardless, the fact that she had fallen victim to it was just _not_ acceptable.

And so, it was great discomfort that Minerva attempted to get out of bed. This was certainly not the Bubonic Plague nor was it even as bad as the Dragon's fever that affected the entire school during the spring of 1972. Not even the mischievous first years of the time could escape its effects.

Not that said first years didn't try, Minerva thought to herself with a slight smile. She could recall how a particular group of new trouble-makers even tried to raise the school's spirits throughout that time, though the result was definitely a fiasco. She began to chuckle at this memory, ignoring the pain her laughter caused.

That was an incident she was not quite likely to forget anytime soon.

"What time is it?"

"It is three minutes past six, Professor."

With that announcement Minerva hurried out of bed, frustrated she had overslept by over half an hour. And as she stepped in front of her mirror, further frustration rose: a glamour charm of sorts was going to undoubtedly be called for today.

"The Headmaster might not mind you being late to the meeting, dear." Her clock cried out and she shot it a weary stare as she responded.

"But Severus just might." And she was not in the mood to deal with anymore snark than was necessary today

Her clock didn't respond in turn, not that she was truly expecting anything. Minerva's clock, a wonderful gift that was charmed to not only tell time on command but also to occasionally comment on the situation at hand, was one of her favorite possessions.

It was so much more valuable than a talking mirror. All those types of mirrors fixated on were unnecessary critiques of their owners. And that was the kind of talk she never approved of.

Get back to the subject at hand, Minerva, she chided herself mentally. There's no time to get lost in your thoughts when something far more important is at hand.

…

Perhaps staff meetings were not as important she had previously declared in her quarters.

Almost everyone was here today and the meeting droned on as they spoke of the mundane and reported the usual academic progress. As she took note of those in attendance she wasn't surprised in the slightest to see Professor Trelawney was absent from the meeting.

But would Minerva even want to deal with—

"I apologize for my tardiness," A hoarse voice called from the entrance to the Staff Room. By this point, what was just a minor cough had the sudden, _undesired_ , companionship of a headache. But Minerva could only softly sigh and resist the urge to hack up blood. She then continued to ignore the look of concern she had been given throughout the meeting by a certain Headmaster.

A certain Headmaster who could note the occasional slip in her glamour.

After all, she was a Transfigurations Mistress and not a master of Charms.

Sybil quietly scurried into the room, taking an extra seat. And it was with a growing feeling of curiosity that Minerva noted the self-proclaimed Seer wasn't wearing any of her bangles today. Nor did any of Sybil's outfit contain her normal noise-making accessories.

 _Fascinating_.

She was certainly not the only one to notice.

Minerva eyed the Potions Master from across the table. Granted, the Dungeon Bat – a name that only her students referred to him as – didn't really seem interested in anything other than the table but she could tell he was intrigued by the abnormalities their Divinations Professor presented today.

At least he was subtle about it.

"You sick or something, Sybil?"

Only Rolanda Hooch would whisper so loudly across the table to her fellow colleague. Albus merely pretended to be blind to this _discrete_ verbal transaction as Minerva resisted the urge to groan out loud: not only because of the lack of professionalism evident in the Hogwarts staff today but also because of the growth of her headache.

Well, there was only about an hour of this to go.

Oh, she would indeed be dying by the end of today.

….

"Minerva, my dear," The Headmaster began quietly. Their daily walk was not normally one drenched in a tired silence but she was simply not in the mood to even attempt small chattering today.

Not when she had to deal with fourth years today. Stereotypically, it was the seventh years a teacher would expect to be rowdy. Indeed, it was almost a guarantee to have difficult seventh years for they have been enduring the academics of Hogwarts for quite some time. And yet it was, in fact, the fourth years that cause the most trouble this year. They had the wonderful position of not having to deal with OWLs or NEWTS but they also had more experience at Hogwarts than the younger years. Why that reasoning made them believe they also had to currently be the most impatient group at Hogwarts really escaped Minerva.

"—see Poppy."

And now she completely missed the last thing he said. All because of the fourth years.

"Albus, there really is no reason for me to go to the Hospital Wing today. Let me assure you that I am perfectly fine." Came the defensive response.

Minerva could only look taken aback as that damned look of concern came back. Their walk came to a temporary stop, mere meters away from her office.

"Minerva, I would certainly hope not. After all, Sybil was the one this morning who seemed to be under the weather, not you. And, if you were indeed ill, it would not be wise to miss breakfast, my dear."

This is what she gets for allowing fourth years to distract her.

"My apologies, Albus. I'm afraid I was lost in my thoughts for a brief moment and hadn't heard you mention Sybil." He merely nodded in response at this.

"Minerva, are you quite certain you do not wish to go to breakfast instead?"

Now, she was in quite a pickle, as the Muggle saying went. She knew that the look on the Headmaster's face and furthermore she knew her current options in this situation

If she didn't say yes to him, Poppy would be sent over to her office at some point today and if there was no one around to distract Poppy that meant only one thing: Poppy could easily go into full mother-hen mode and force Minerva to come back to the Hospital Wing.

However, Minerva could indeed come to the Great Hall and attempt some breakfast. She could also feel the urge to slam her head into the school's cool concrete if she really wanted to indulge in some more self-torture.

Granted, then the Headmaster would have to step in and consequently the end result would be still the hospital wing.

Of course, there was the most loathed option of all: Minerva could in fact walk over to the despised Hospital Wing and she could indeed sit down on one of the damned beds and croak out a cry for assistance.

However, if she is already suffering there is truly no other option than to power through the wretched mess.

"I'll require one moment in my office to make a note of something," Aka, to grab some Pepper-up potion from her emergency supplies. If Minerva could make it through breakfast with her own strength she could take some before her first class.

The Headmaster nodded at this, eyes twinkling at this, and they soon reached her office's door. She briefly stepped inside, quickly summoning the Pepper-up before slipping it into her robes.

"Speaking of the Hospital Wing, Minerva," Albus began once more as she returned and she smiled tiredly at this. "I've noticed that there's something that seems to taking its toll on the school. Have you noticed anybody who appears to be sicker than normal?"

It was most definitely going to be a long morning.

…

"Professor! I am so sorry about your table!"

And now it was proving to not only be a long morning but to also be a long day.

"It's quite okay, Burns. Just make sure not to repeat your mistake." Came the tired response.

She had to change lessons for most of her classes today. The sixth years were already past the current lectures, now in the refinement stage of practice, but her first years and fourth years were definitely not. Therefore, to save her voice and her sanity, Minerva felt it was rather necessary to have the first years work on more theoretical writings whilst the fourth years could have a review day of the spells they've learned this year.

Fortunately, this rather unorthodox change in plans had not quite caught the Headmaster's attention just yet or there would be even more concern to deal with by dinner time.

Unfortunately, the day was going to be over anytime soon.

….

Damn this blasted cough!

"Minerva, are you quite alright?" The Arithmancer of Hogwarts walked towards her colleague as concern began to riddle her face.

"Quite fine, Septima." The Transfiguration Mistress straightened up from her unexpected coughing fit and schooled her expressions to be less worrisome. "What brought you over to this part of the school?"

"It seems there was a nearby disturbance that I heard while I was taking a stroll through the school. And then I heard Peeves and came to the conclusion he was involved." Professor Vector turned to glance up around the corridor for the poltergeist but he was nowhere to be seen. Septima then glanced back to her companion.

"Ah, yes, you have a small break right now, don't you?" Minerva said, recalling all the time tables she had written up during the previous summer.

"Indeed." Septima pointedly smiled at that before continuing. "Shall we indulge in a snack of some kind, then? Dinner won't be for a few hours, I don't have class for another hour, and I am feeling rather peckish." Minerva really was going to insist on avoiding food, even though she too had enough time to "snack", but it was at that point her stomach let out a growl. She raised an eyebrow at this betrayal and ignored Septima's knowing look.

"To the kitchens it is." The Arithmancy Professor declared before leading the way.

"Now, Minerva, I heard there was some sort of explosion with your desk?"

…

Dinner was proving to be more of a challenge than expected. Yes, Minerva had indeed lightly snacked on some food with Septima a few hours before hand but she had barely eatn anything except for a Ginger Newt.

No, it was the loud cacophony of dinner that caused her pain tonight. Everything, even the occasional scraping of silverware, was much louder than normal tonight. And all Minerva could do was stare at her plate and ignore the aromas of dinner that sickeningly flooded the air.

"Will you pass the butter, Minerva?" Aurora Sinistra politely requested from a few seats away. She nodded at this request, mechanically reaching out for the butter before passing it to her left.

"Minerva," Filius had finally arrived to the table, his robes slightly singed. "I heard there was some sort of incidence with a transfiguration gone wrong in your last class?"

"Didn't your desk explode?"  
"The desk was with the sixth years whereas the transfiguration was with my fourth years." She quietly spoke, her voice bordering on a whisper.

"How horrid!" Pomona spoke sympathetically from her seat. "The only difficulties I had today were the usual."

"That sort of incompetence would never be tolerated in _my_ classrooms." Minerva bit back a retort to this as she recalled the cauldron incident, shockingly caused by a Slytherin, that occurred last week. However, she wasn't in the mood to deal with Severus.

"Well, Transfiguration is one of the more dangerous subjects."

"Indeed. Muggle Studies never has any sort of problems like that."

"Yes, well," And as the staff began to critique one another subject's, Minerva allowed herself to drift further into her thoughts. She still had the Pepper-up hidden in her robes, never quite finding a good opportunity to take it.

And, regardless of today's agony, a simple virus like this would be easy to deal with once dinner was over. It would be no fuss at all and, in her opinion, it would be incredibly easy to contain.

…

"My dear, it was a very a valiant effort. You did stay out of the Hospital Wing longer than I had anticipated."

"Oh, shut up, Albus." He let out a chuckle at Minerva's improper response, making sure to maintain his distance from her.

Granted, maintaining some distance was quite easy to do when they were both bedridden in the Hospital Wing.

"Minerva, you shouldn't be surprised in the slightest to hear that had you actually deemed it necessary to come to the Hospital Wing when you were first struck with this illness there would have been no repercussions. It would have been no fuss at all. However, since you apparently didn't think it necessary, you will now have to spend quite a few days recuperating."

The _only_ and Minerva truly meant _only_ thing that kept her sane was to see that this damn virus was fair in its attack and therefore it even brought the Potions Master down.

And it was a glorious bonus to eventually walk out of the Hospital Wing right as Severus Snape was forced to lie down on a bed right next to dear, sweet Sybil Trelawney.

There was apparently some kind of justice in this world after all.

…

A/N: As I'm currently bedridden/sick I decided to take it upon myself to enjoy coming up with this new oneshot. I do hope you all have enjoyed!


End file.
